In Ten Words
by sylc
Summary: Young Lindir has not done his history homework. He asks his uncle, Glorfindel, to help him.


"Uncle Glorfindel."

Glorfindel, who was lying reclined in a hammock in his private garden in Imladris and enjoying a rare day off from duty, cracked open an eye when he heard the plaintive tone of his nephew's voice. "Yes, Lindir?" he asked sleepily, wincing when he found himself gazing into the sun, the reason why he had been resting with his eyes shut. "What is it?"

"I have a problem."

Glorfindel cracked open the other eye and gazed half-attentively at the young elfling standing next to his hammock and gazing intently at him. There were a few papers in his arms and four fat books. Not music manuscripts. Glorfindel, sensing some nasty exercise for his brain should he encourage his nephew any further, reclosed his eyes. The sun was quite bright and it was painful on his eyes. "Come back later, Lindir," he said. "If it is urgent, go and speak to Erestor. He is your tutor, not I."

"Well, that is just it," Lindir said. He sounded upset. Glorfindel reluctantly reopened his eyes. "Erestor is giving me a test tomorrow and I am to be tested on the contents of these books and others which he lent to me last month."

Glorfindel eyed the golden words that ran down the spine of the uppermost book: _The Tale Of Beren & Lúthien_. History, he guessed, his lip curling. "How is that a problem?" he ventured.

Lindir looked shamefaced. "Well, Uncle, I have not read any of the books. And it will be impossible for me to read all of them before tomorrow."

"That is your problem," Glorfindel said. "You know what I said about doing your homework. I am certainly not going to plead for an extension on your behalf to Erestor. You will face the consequences."

"Uncle!" Lindir pouted.

Glorfindel said nothing, instead reclosing his eyes.

There was a long silence. Lindir continued to gaze at him. It was incredibly annoying and presently, Glorfindel opened his eyes again.

"Please!" Lindir said, pout still in place.

"No. Go away." Glorfindel groaned when Lindir, rather than going away, instead crawl onto the hammock. Reluctantly, he pulled up his legs so that there was room for the boy. He wrinkled his nose when Lindir wedged the books between them.

"I have to read about..." the elfling peered at one of his papers, "Morgoth... Ungoliant... Beren and Lúthien... Finrod... The Two Trees... Thingol... orcs... and Ilúvatar the One." Lindir wrinkled his nose and Glorfindel, recognising the elf's expression as one of his own and realising for the first time how ugly it looked, hurriedly straightened his face.

"So what do you want me to do about it?" Glorfindel asked. "I cannot – nay, I _will not_ – read these books for you."

"Aye, but you are so old that you know everything anyway," Lindir said easily. "You can summarise each subject for me and I can just remember those for tomorrow."

Glorfindel groaned again.

Lindir giggled. "Your memory cannot be that bad, surely?" he said.

"That is not the point," Glorfindel muttered.

"Just short summaries," Lindir wheedled. "I just need a few key points."

"You who wish to be a minstrel, but care not for history," Glorfindel muttered to himself, rolling his eyes skywards. "In ten words, then," he said. "I shall summarise the story of each of those people and things in ten words." Hopefully, his brain would not fail him before he completed this self-set exercise. "Pray, read out the names and I shall tell you about them."

"Very well." Lindir picked up a blank piece of parchment and took a pen out of his pocket. "Morgoth."

"Cruel Valar who sought world domination. Defeated by fellow Valar." Glorfindel watched Lindir write furiously on his parchment.

"Ungoliant."

"Lindir, you said that I was old. I hope that does not mean that you think me a contemporary of some of these characters."

Lindir just shrugged. "Ungoliant," he bleated again, scratching his chin with the feathered end of the pen.

"Fat spider. Killed Trees with Morgoth. Mother of all spiders."

"Beren and Lúthien."

"Lovey-dovey pair who eloped and stole a Silmaril from Morgoth." Glorfindel was starting to enjoy himself.

"Finrod."

Glorfindel was silent.

"Finrod," Lindir pressed again, a little louder, perhaps thinking that Glorfindel had not heard him the first time.

"Galadriel's brother..." Glorfindel began slowly, thoughtfully.

"Yes, yes?"

"Martyr who left his betrothed and died paying a debt."

"The Two Trees."

"Light-giving trees. Now dead, but produce is sun and moon.

"Thingol."

Glorfindel snorted softly. "Possessive greedy human-hating nutcase. Sired Lúthien, then locked her up," he said quietly, a wide grin on his face. He then blinked when he saw that Lindir was actually writing his words down. He hurriedly moved to make his account more politically correct. "Lindir, you had better not write that down. Instead write: King of Doriath. Lúthien's father. Married Melian of the Maiar."

Lindir nodded attentively and resumed scribbling away on his piece of paper.

"Orcs," he said, when he had apparently finished writing down Glorfindel's words.

"Enslaved monsters bred by Morgoth in mockery of free folk."

"Ilúvatar the One."

"Creator of all," Glorfindel said shortly. Then he stopped. "Likes choirs," he added. "Only known of through hearsay." He stretched. "Is that all?"

"Well, there was one last book," Lindir said. "But I was fine with that one."

"Oh, you read it, then?"

"No, but it was about you in the First Age and I already know all about you."

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. "Indeed." The sweeping nature of the statement bemused him.

"Yes," Lindir said. "I will summarise you in ten words. You were: A vain bachelor of Gondolin who fought well, but died."

Glorfindel blinked. Then he smirked and nodded slowly. "I see. Very good, very good. And Lord Elrond? You know enough about him to summarise him in ten words, I hope."

"Um... um..." Lindir fell quiet as he thought for a few moments. "Friendly and clever lord of Imladris. Likes giving me sweets."

"Well that certainly explains why your baby teeth are falling out so quickly," Glorfindel muttered, making a mental note to speak to Elrond about the matter. "What about Erestor?"

"Clever, but grouchy old elf who makes my brain hurt." Lindir grabbed up his books and papers and slid from the hammock. "Thank you, Uncle Glorfindel."

"Yes, it is always thank you after I do you a favour. But when will you do me a favour, Lindir?"

Lindir ignored the question. "Will you describe me in ten words, Uncle?"

"I certainly will: Lazy little elfling whose uncle does all his nasty homework." Glorfindel sighed and stretched back out on the hammock - back into his original position. "And now I expect you are going off to play with your playmates. When will you ever learn to study, Lindir?"

Lindir ignored that question too. Instead, the elfling rose up on his tippy toes and kissed him on the cheek. "Sleep well, Uncle," he wished, and then he turned and walked away. After listening awhile to the boy's fading steps, Glorfindel, on finding the sun once again in his eyes, closed them and returned to his rest.


End file.
